Petrichor from Winter's Grass
by Epsilon Scorpii
Summary: The first time they meet he's a terrified boy soldier who refuses to pull the trigger, and he's the one who shoves her out of the hidden passageway to escape the Guards. Years later, they meet again as Boy 412 and Boy 512 serving in the Young Army - but only one of them knows it. Magyk AU Jenna/Septimus Friendship fic.


The first time they meet he's a terrified boy soldier who refuses to pull the trigger, and he's the one who shoves her out of the hidden passageway to escape. Years later, they meet again as Boy 412 and Boy 512 serving in the Young Army, but only one of them knows it. Magyk AU Jenna/Septimus Friendship fic.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.

 _I've been playing with this idea for years actually, but I never got around to write it because it's a multi-chaptered fic and therefore needs constant work on updates. But after months of continuously checking the SH fandom for more fics to read and getting disappointed, I decided to contribute to the SH fic count and post my own too. Hope you like it! XP_

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 **~Petrichor from Winter's Grass~**

 **01**

He stared at the boy figure standing before him, feeling completely out of depth.

It had been a year or more since their last unfortunate encounter, but he would have recognized those piercing violet eyes anywhere. One glance at Boris Catchpole however told him he was the only one who had pieced together the puzzle almost instantly, and for a brief moment he felt a spark of surprise coupled with wariness.

How long would it take before _her_ game ran out?

He supposed it was because he knew what exactly she was, or more accurately _who_ she was – but it was evident in his eyes that the new recruit Boy 512 was no boy at all. She was a girl around the same age as he was, and even more than that - she was the last heir to the royal family they'd been hunting for all the while.

Even if he knew the secret she was hiding, Boy 412 couldn't help but marvel at her disguise: her long dark hair looked as though they had been shorn off in a hurry; the edges were unevenly cropped and closely shaved at the sides. Her bangs were pushed carelessly to the back, and there was an undeniable air of boyishness about her as she met the Cadet Leader's gaze unflinchingly.

It was a shame, because her dark violet eyes, and only those, were a dead giveaway.

"The new recruits will be joining the last ranks!" Catchpole announced in a voice with ill-concealed glee. "The last three get to be the Expendables for the week. Now move out!"

There was a brief uncertain moment when violet eyes caught his own, but he hurriedly averted his eyes before his expression could betray him. His heart gave a solid thump in his ribcage, and something cold tingled down his spine. Her presence here was a danger both to him and herself – because Boy 412 had been the one who had failed the mission by allowing the princess to escape, and because of that he had virtually signed himself to a death penalty.

As a matter of fact, he hadn't merely _allowed_ their bait to escape - he'd as good as fraternized with the enemy. He'd been the one to step back first; he'd been the one to finally drop the gun when she scrabbled to unlatch the second-floor storeroom window.

" _There's a door out,"_ he had told her.

The secret entrance installed by the Custodian Guards behind one of Queen Matilda's less flattering life-sized portrait.

He'd as good as shoved her into the passageway, shut and hid the door behind her before narrowly escaping the Hunter himself and a pack of Guards that came running after their prey. It was only by a wild streak of luck his face had remained covered and he had easily blended back into the rest of Unit after the operation was called out, feigning innocence and complete uselessness as usual. It was probably to his advantage that the Cadet Leader had always acknowledged him as one of the useless recruits who managed to survive their training course by sheer dumb luck, because no one looked twice his way.

The Queen had been killed where she stood that night. It was still one of the stories the Young Army liked to boast about when they sat around the fire for their 'lessons'. He hated it when it became his turn to contribute something to their morbid chants or verses, but there was little he could do about it.

He'd laughed when they'd made nursery rhymes about the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, but the older they grew, the truth became less veiled: until all of them knew the exact meaning behind those silly chants they used to sing – they were training for the sole purpose to kill the royal family line and overthrow the ExtraOrdinary. Rumour had it that they would then put a **Necromancer** on the throne.

He didn't know much of **Magyk** in general, but the **Necromancer** was said to be an extremely powerful wizard.

He held his silence, but privately Boy 412 thought the Young Army was only contradicting its own teachings. Why should they hate and kill 'unnatural' Wizards when they were aiming to put another in power? He used to believe what they were taught, but the more he learnt the less certain he grew, and up till the day he was involved in the Siege of the Palace – he thought he finally got his answer.

A sudden, sharp blow to the side of his head caught him unaware and nearly sent him sprawling. For a moment his heart missed a beat, but nobody seemed to be suspecting anything, least of all Catchpole.

"Are you deaf as well as dumb, 412? I _said,_ MOVE OUT!" Catchpole's voice shouted in his ear.

Mutely, Boy 412 stumbled carefully out of striking range, keeping his head low. The mark stung painfully, but he mutely wiped the spittle from his face, bowed and left without looking back.

Keep pretending, he told himself. Pretend you're what they think you are, hide every skill you acquire and feign ignorance instead.

After all to Boy 412 marks didn't mean a thing, but freedom did.

xXx

The rest of the boys had moved off deep into the forest by the time Boy 412 stepped out of the clearing. He could hear the faint sounds of them taunting each other to venture further into the woods, and he privately marveled at their foresight – or lack thereof. They were currently camping in a spot not too far off from where they lost five boys to the wolverines only the month before, and wandering around in the Forest was possibly one of the worst things to do especially when they had nothing to arm themselves against anything larger than a rabbit.

Boy 412 waded through the shrubs and thick undergrowth carpeting the forest floor half-heartedly. The goal to their final mission before calling it a night was pretty simple: the highest points went to the soldiers with the biggest and brightest fire. Boy 412 himself was ranking dangerously close to the Expendable list, but he didn't want to perform well in the exercise. He'd come to learn that wolverines were attracted to fire just as much as they feared them. Contrary to what the Young Army thought, the best way of survival when encountering a wolverine attack was to meld into the shadows unnoticed and escape when they were distracted by the dazzling flames.

Of course, it was probably due to the fact that unlike the Cadet Leaders, boy soldiers weren't allowed to carry any weapon short of a pocket knife – and even those were limited to boy soldiers who ranked higher than the bottom 10. Boy 412 currently belonged in the latter group.

A sudden sharp _crack_ of a branch snapping underfoot made Boy 412 freeze in his steps.

He turned around slowly, his heart fluttering around in his ribcage as he strained his eyes to see through the gloom. The fog hung low and damp in the chilly night air, obscuring half of his vision. He was already prepared for the worst: e.g. a beast pouncing on him out of nowhere to devour him – but to his surprise it was only her, or Boy 512, he had to remind himself.

There had been a hidden measure of defiance in Boy 512's stance when she had been forced to introduce herself and his current rank. However all traces of obstinacy had left her face by now as he trampled through foliage and wild growth, seemingly at a loss. Whether the younger recruit had noticed himself or not, he couldn't be sure.

He didn't know why, but Boy 412 was afraid just as much as he was intrigued by the other. He often wondered what happened to the princess after she'd escaped; all he knew was that she had survived. He had never in his wildest dreams expected to meet her again the form of Boy 512. But even more than his curiousity, he was more afraid still that she would recognize him. It was unlikely that Boy 512 would tell, but he remained uncertain and on edge; he'd learnt from a young age never to trust anyone in the Young Army.

So Boy 412 pretended not to notice and he turned back to his search. His eyes raked the ground carefully as he moved between branches with caution, even though he was all too aware of the footsteps not far off from where he was.

To his surprise he found what he was looking for quickly – a chalky marl in the form of a nodule. It was almost as big as his fist. He bent down and retrieved it, and out of the corner of his eye he felt more than saw violet eyes snap towards him, as if trying to see what they were supposed to be looking for in the first place.

Slowly, Boy 412 straightened and chanced a look at the other. Almost immediately Boy 512 averted her gaze and turned away to scan the ground near a terrible-looking tree with gnarled branches. But in a sudden act that surprised even himself, Boy 412 held up the flint-stone for the other to see. It shone strangely pale under the filtering starlight.

"Do you want to, um, share one?" Boy 412 offered, slightly awkwardly.

The shorter of the pair turned to face Boy 412 for the first time. Her violet eyes held conflicted emotions of wariness and distrust, but there was a slightly vulnerable edge that hinted at a breakthrough when Boy 512 spoke, "Why would you?"

Inwardly Boy 412 was impressed by the carefully constructed gruffness in her tone, but of course he didn't say it aloud. However the other continued to stare at him quizzically, and Boy 412 had to resist the urge to clear his throat.

"I... don't like huge fires," Boy 412 said. Quite lamely. It was rather hard to explain the whole concept to a new recruit anyway – and besides, he was the useless wimpy soldier around here. He might as well act up to the part.

Boy 512 looked surprised, as if she hadn't been expecting the answer. But when he broke the flint-stone easily in half and handed it to the other, Boy 512 took it. And for the first time, the violet-eyed young soldier flashed a slight uncertain smile in his direction.

"Thanks."

 _A/N:_ _This is actually my first non Simon/Sep centered fic. Liked it? Hated it? Hit the button below especially if it's the former, or if you would like it to be continued. :P I might change the format to random installation of scenes in the form of one-shots as well. Your thoughts are much appreciated. :D_

 _P.S: Sorry for the quality, I haven't had time to revise it properly. I'm swamped with work and should definitely not be writing now, so yeah. 0.0''_


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